


Turnabout

by CC (ccwriter)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-02
Updated: 2006-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-04 02:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccwriter/pseuds/CC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up piece to <i>Switches & Ashes</i>, also posted to the archive. Here, Starsky attacks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Molo as a Not-So-Secret Santa gift, and then I made her beta it. Thank you, Molo!

The leather strap was tight across his chest. Not so tight he couldn't breathe, but enough that he could feel it. The same was true of the handcuffs that chained his wrists to the shower rod—tight, but not painfully so.

"I asked you a question," the voice in his ear reminded him. "Who's in charge now?"

Hutch ignored the question, just as he had the first time. The belt scraped across his nipples as it dropped lower, down to his hips, before being tugged tight again.

"If you know what's good for you, you'll answer me."

The belt inched lower, and Hutch flinched and sucked in a sharp breath as the leather was rubbed back and forth across the front of his shorts.

"So you're gonna play it that way, huh?"

The belt fell away, and Hutch exhaled. And inhaled again when it was pulled up tightly between his legs. "Okay, okay! You're in charge."

"Damn right I am." A triumphant smirk was evident in the voice at his back.

The leather was pulled forward and then back again, now rubbing against his balls as well as his cock. Hutch banged his leg into the side of the bathtub as he tried to move his feet apart.

"Don't move. You'll only make it hard on yourself."

"It's already hard," Hutch muttered and earned a swat on the back of his head.

"Shut up. I didn't say you could talk, did I?"

"You didn't say anything. I don't know what the rules are."

A predatory hand grabbed Hutch's ass, hot and possessive. "The only rule you need to know is that you're my prisoner."

"Prisoner!" Hutch tugged against the metal restraints on his wrists.

"Yeah, I captured you. You're mine. All mine. I control you now."

"Now wait one damn minute!"

Thwack!

Hutch heard the sound of the leather strap a split second before he felt the burn of it across his ass. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Considering that his captor hadn't swung that hard, and that Hutch had two layers of cloth—albeit, thin ones—between the belt and his skin, it hadn't hurt much more than a bee sting, but without the use of his hands to rub it better, it really was uncomfortable.

"That was just a warm-up. If you know what's good for you, you'll shut up and obey me."

Despite the still-warm stripe on his backside, Hutch almost laughed at the absurdity of Starsky's command. The only intention he had of obeying Starsky in anything was if he yelled, Duck! Even if Starsky held a belt in one hand and a whip in the other—

Oh, God. The mental image alone was enough to shoot a throb of needy pleasure from the base of his cock to the tip. Hutch did laugh then, a hopeless, pathetic sound to his own ears. His body was betraying him.

"There, that's more like it," Starsky murmured in his ear, his hands cupping and squeezing Hutch's ass, gently soothing the pain away. "See, when you behave, you get a reward. Isn't that better?"

Hutch could only nod. Warm, dry lips pressed into the back of his neck, followed by the cool wetness of Starsky's tongue. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Do you really care what I'm doing if it feels good?"

"No," Hutch whispered, shivering as he bent his head forward. He felt the curve of a smile against his neck.

"Good boy." Starsky's fingers slid up into Hutch's hair, caressing softly, then abruptly tugging hard. "My boy."

Hutch opened his mouth to point out that he was nobody's boy, but instinct told him he was probably better served by remaining quiet. He was right. He got two rewards for that: Starsky sucked a sliver of skin into his mouth and slid his hand beneath the waistband of Hutch's shorts. To Hutch's dismay, Starsky's thumb hooked the elastic band and stopped, fingers splayed against Hutch's belly, not quite reaching where Hutch wanted it to be—wrapped around his cock and pumping hard.

Closing his eyes to let that image play out, Hutch shifted his feet in an attempt to get more comfortable. He was dressed in his work-around-the-house clothes and the skimpy running shorts that made up the lower half of the ensemble didn't allow much room for expansion. He wondered if he was allowed to ask for relief. Would he get a punishment or a reward for that? To his surprise, Hutch realized it didn't really matter to him which one he got.

As fate would have it, Hutch didn't get to find out. Starsky withdrew his hand, patted Hutch's ass, and moved away.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"Just giving you some time to think about what's going to happen to you."

Hutch turned his head just in time to see the bathroom door being pulled shut.

He was alone, handcuffed to his bathroom shower rod, with his dick getting harder every time he inhaled, and a lover in the other room with a score to settle.

He'd always known Starsky couldn't take a joke.

Starsky had been gone at least half and hour; Hutch was sure of it. Never mind that the radio had only changed songs once since Starsky left him there. Hutch could tell from the weight of his arms and the chill on his bare feet that he'd been shackled there way too long.

On the plus side, his hard-on was gone. Or almost gone. To Hutch it seemed as though he walked around with a perpetual erection these days. Ever since That Day, the day a few weeks ago when he found Starsky trapped under the bed, a victim of his own devious plotting. Sure, Hutch had taken advantage of the situation. This was different though. It wasn't like he had tied Starsky to the bed. Starsky had gotten his own self stuck there.

Hutch had just been lucky.

Ever since then, all he needed was to be within twenty feet of Starsky and he threw a rod. At work, at home, at Huggy's. Or hell, even this afternoon, when Starsky had been out running errands, Hutch's engines had started revving just from the lingering aroma of his lover's shampoo. It was happening all over just thinking about it.

Hutch took a deep breath and adjusted his stance again.

"Close your eyes."

"I already know what you look like, you idiot."

"Hutch, I've given you about as many warnings as I'm willing to give. I don't want to have to hit you again."

"Oh, yeah, I wanna talk to you about that, buddy boy. I never hit—" Hutch managed a quarter turn, planning to argue with Starsky as face-to-face as he could get, but what he saw sent a cool shiver down his spine. "Wh-what's that?

Starsky put the plain brown cardboard box he was carrying on top of the vanity and looked up at Hutch curiously. "What?"

"That." Hutch felt a nervous tingle in his balls.

Looking from Hutch back to the box in question, Starsky paused a moment before patting it and smiling at Hutch. "Just some stuff I picked up while I was out running around. Nothing you need to worry about...well, maybe you should worry, but seeing's how you can't do anything about it, it's really a waste of your time, if you ask me." He grinned evilly and winked. "Gonna be a helluva lotta fun watching you, though."

"You bastard." Hutch pulled hard against the cuffs, hoping the screws he'd just replaced in the wall bracket would suffer some sort of miraculous structural failure.

"What happened? You were being so good before." Starsky moved up behind him, and his hands pressed against Hutch's back.

Hutch tried to pull away. "What happened! I'll tell you what happened. I've been trussed up here like some sort of animal for...forever."

"Babe, it's been about ten minutes." Starsky slid his hands over Hutch's hips, skimming his waistband before moving lower. "Oh, I see. Big Red left you high and dry, huh?"

"Big What?" Hutch sputtered indignantly. "Starsky, I'll play along with your little game here, but the day we start naming our dicks is the day I move out."

"Okay, okay, calm down." Starsky's hand slid upward, gently scratching his way to the nape of Hutch's neck. "You're getting all splotchy."

"I feel splotchy. Like one gigantic, idiotic splotch."

Starsky's hands moved to Hutch's arms, rubbing up and down the length of them. "Yeah, well, you're my splotch, and don't you forget it."

Hutch felt Starsky's hair tickling the back of his neck, and then Starsky was kissing along his arm and shoulder. By the time he switched to the other side, Hutch's irritation was fading, and when Starsky reached around and skimmed his hand just inside the waistband of Hutch's shorts, Hutch couldn't hold back a soft moan.

"That's more like it." Starsky slid his hands under Hutch's t-shirt and across his torso, palms flat against the skin, crisscrossing and slowly moving upward. Hutch's nipples ached in anticipation of his touch, and when Starsky's fingers finally found them, Hutch sucked in a harsh breath.

"You like that, don't you?" Starsky whispered in his ear. "Well, I love doing it, love how it makes you tremble. In a few minutes, I'll move around in front and take 'em in my mouth. I love that, too."

As if his hands weren't working their own magic, Starsky's voice, soft and hypnotic, was like molten lava flowing over Hutch's body.

"Hard to believe how much you get off on this. They're so small—"

"Some would say tiny."

Starsky pinched with one hand and twisted with the other. "I say small."

"Good enough for me." Hutch closed his eyes as Starsky palmed his nipples hard. His shorts were pulled so tight across his crotch that he wouldn't have been surprised to hear the fabric ripping.

"Hey, why don't we move this to where one of us is a little more comfortable." Hutch heard Starsky chuckle softly and then he wished he hadn't said anything, because Starsky backed away.

"You're not getting out of this that easy, Blintz. But I will see what I can do to make you more comfortable.

Hutch jerked as his t-shirt was pushed up and over his head, or as far over his head as it would go, given that his arms were shackled to the shower rod.

"Oh, dear, this isn't going to work," Starsky said in an absurdly faked tone of concern. "Don't worry. I think I have an idea."

Starsky moved away again, leaving the t-shirt over Hutch's head.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"Hold your horses. I just need to get something."

Hutch turned his head at the soft scritch of the cardboard box opening. He'd forgotten about that. What had Starsky said about it?

Just some stuff I picked up while I was out running around.

What kind of stuff? Where could he have gone?

Hutch didn't have time to consider it any further. The t-shirt was tugged back down. Before he could ask any questions, he heard an ominous clinking, followed by the press of cool metal against his skin, and then the sound of material ripping. Looking down, he saw Starsky reach from behind him and begin to cut his way across the front of Hutch's t-shirt.

"You moron! What the hell are you doing? You just ruined—"

"Save it, Hutch. It was only a couple of washings away from being a dust cloth." Starsky reached behind him to return the scissors to the vanity, then came back to put his hands on Hutch's newly-exposed ribcage. "'Sides, it was too long. This is a better length for you."

Hutch opened his mouth to protest again, but Starsky chose that moment to shift a thumb just beneath the shirt's ragged edge.

A soft gasp was the only sound Hutch could manage as Starsky thumbed his nipple, using the soft material for extra stimulation. His dick throbbed hard.

"Starsk, I need—you gotta help me out here."

Without stopping the t-shirt action, Starsky reached down with his free hand to grope Hutch's bulging shorts. "Gotcha pretty worked up there, don't I?"

Hutch huffed out a short laugh. "A little."

Starsky palmed Hutch's crown, then spread two fingers and ran his knuckles along the length of Hutch's erection. "A lotta, if you ask me." He laughed when Hutch made a strangled sound. "Told you I was gonna be bad."

Hutch smiled weakly and tried to wipe his sweaty forehead with the shoulder of his t-shirt.

"Here," Starsky said, dabbing Hutch's face with the scrap of t-shirt he'd cut away. Hutch was caught off-guard when Starsky's hand suddenly went still.

"I wonder if..."

The rest of the sentence was lost to Hutch as the scrap of material was pulled over his head and positioned over his eyes.

"You okay with this?" Starsky's voice was close against his ear. "Can you handle it?"

The depth of Starsky concern that Hutch might be reminded of ugly times long past broke through Hutch's initial reservations. He turned his head to the right.

"I know where I am. Who I'm with."

Starsky's lips pressed against his shoulder sealed the deal.

While Starsky fumbled around, trying to tie his makeshift blindfold, Hutch took some slow, deep breaths. He had that same feeling he'd had when Starsky had been stuck under the bed, a single moment when he'd felt an electric wildness pulsing in the air around them, waiting to be harnessed and shaped by them. He'd later realized it was the same feeling he'd had the night they crossed the magic line from friends to lovers.

"There." Starsky patted the back of Hutch head and felt around his eyes, making miniscule adjustments. "You still doin' okay?"

"Yeah," Hutch said gruffly. Starsky was stalling, giving Hutch a chance to back out. "Except my balls are probably the same color as my eyes about now. You ever hear of the Geneva Conventions?"

"Yeah, I heard of them, but I don't think they covered this exact situation." Hutch could hear the smile in Starsky's voice.

"Well, they should have."

Hutch took a breath and held it as his shorts and briefs were tugged down his legs.

"Here." Starsky tapped first one foot for Hutch to lift, then the other. The clothing made a swishing noise when it landed on the other side of the bathroom. "Good. I worried about that part. You being so graceful and all."

"Ha, ha." Hutch shifted his legs, breathing easier without the constriction of fabric. He tried not to think of how he must look, blindfolded, shackled and naked except for the brief scrap of t-shirt Starsky had left on him.

"God, you're beautiful." Behind him, Starsky's voice was soft and filled with admiration. "All this time, I never saw you like this."

Hutch could feel himself blushing. "You've seen me naked lots of times."

"Not like this, not with your arms up like that...your back...your ass..."

The unmistakable sound of a zipper being released and then the rustling of material caught Hutch's attention, and he turned his head. "Hey, no fair!"

"Just making a little room."

"Doesn't take that much time to work a zipper, Starsk."

Starsky's arms slid around him from behind. "Are you sayin' you missed me?"

Hutch sighed as questing fingers slid under the edge of his t-shirt. "I missed that."

The warm rush of air of Starsky's laughter brushed the back of his neck. "But any hands will do, right?"

"At this exact moment...probably. For the rest of my life? No." Hutch gasped at the answering pinch and felt his cock pulse its response. He was minutes away from begging Starsky to touch it, one long slow stroke, maybe two, to ease the building pressure.

"Babe?"

Hutch shivered when the whispered breath kissed his ear. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk."

"Now?" Hutch could hear the shrillness in his voice.

"Yes, now. Don't worry, though," Starsky patted Hutch's stomach as he removed his hands. "I can do more than one thing at a time."

Hutch's sense of frustration evaporated when he realized Starsky was moving around him—finally!—and stepping into the tub. He felt a quiver of anticipation run along his spine at the same time that he felt the tip of his cock brush against Starsky's belly, each soft hair there a new torture device.

"Damn, you're hard."

"That what you wanted to talk about?"

"No, but look at it."

"I can't look at it, you idiot," Hutch said through gritted teeth. Starsky had gripped Hutch's erection and was pulling it down and letting it snap back against Hutch's stomach, something he often did both for the entertainment factor and because he knew it drove Hutch crazy. "Did you want to talk about something?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah."

Hutch was surprised when Starsky's lips touched his. He hadn't expected that, but he wasn't about to complain about it, especially when Starsky slid his tongue along Hutch's lips and then into his mouth. Even then, it was a sweet kiss, slow and deep, and Hutch imagined it was part apology.

Pulling away with a light tug of teeth on Hutch's lower lip, Starsky moved his hands up to cup Hutch's face.

"You think you know what this is about, don't you?"

Something else Hutch hadn't expected. "I assumed it was payback for that day."

"The day you let me stay stuck under the bed while you tortured me?"

"Yeah, the day you lied and snuck around looking for Christmas presents."

"And you tortured me." Starsky ran his thumb across Hutch's lips.

"And I tortured you."

"Well, that's not what it's about. Not really. Maybe a little bit, but mostly not." Starsky was babbling.

"Then what's it about?"

There was a long pause before Starsky spoke, and only then after he'd taken a deep breath. "Something happened that day, and I've been wanting to talk to you about it, but every time I started to, I chickened out."

"Starsk, after ten-plus years, you know there's nothing we can't talk about."

"I know, it's just that..." Starsky sounded uncertain.

"C'mon, just say it. It's not like I'm going to run away." Hutch paused. "Oh, is that why I'm chained up here? You're afraid I'll leave if I hear whatever it is you have to tell me?"

"No, that's the payback part." Starsky's voice was lighter. "I just decided to take advantage of the opportunity."

"And the blindfold?"

"Kind of spur of the moment, but I think it's helping."

"Then spill it. What happened that day that's got you in a knot?"

Starsky's hands slid down to rest on Hutch's shoulders. "Maybe I need to back up a little...you remember how when we first started...being together, a couple of times, you wanted to...you know, fuck me, but I didn't...wouldn't..." Starsky's voice trailed away.

"Weren't interested? Yes, I remember, and I was okay with that. It felt like the right thing to me at the time, but it wasn't the right thing for both of us. We talked about it then. I thought you knew I was okay with it."

"Oh, I knew it and I appreciated it, and I really didn't think about it too much anymore. But that day when I was stuck under the bed, you were getting off on being in control and I...well, I was kind of in a vulnerable position at the time," Hutch could hear the smirk in Starsky's voice, "and I thought, I wondered...if you were planning to..." Again, Starsky let the sentence fade.

Remembering the way he'd spread Starsky's legs apart and how he'd positioned himself, Hutch didn't have any trouble completing Starsky's thought. "You thought I was going to rape you?"

"No, no, not rape. But I wondered if you were thinking about...maybe pushing for...that kind of sex, and I—"

"Starsk, I never even thought about it. I know you don't—"

"No, see, Hutch, that's my problem. You didn't think about it, and I wanted...I wanted...what did I want?"

"You wanted me to fuck you?"

Starsky didn't respond at first, and when he did, his voice was soft and tentative. "No, I didn't...but I was disappointed that you didn't want to, that it didn't seem to even cross your mind. I know that doesn't make sense, but I've been thinking about it since then, and I think I know what it means."

"What's that?" Hutch prodded, keeping his tone soft also.

"I think I'm ready, or almost ready, to do...that. I felt it for a few minutes that day, but I knew it wasn't the right time." Starsky's hands moved back to Hutch's face. "I feel it today, too, but this isn't the right time either. I don't know when it will be, but I got to thinking...."

"Keep going."

"I got to thinking, what if we tried a practice run, kind of." Starsky sounded embarrassed now.

"A p-practice run?" Hutch's senses were reeling. He could tell Starsky was in some sort of tug-of-war with himself, and he didn't know quite how to respond. And Starsky was waiting for a response. Now. "You got some sort of practice track I don't know about?"

It was the right answer, apparently, because Starsky laughed. "No, but I've got something else in mind. If you're willing."

"Let me hear it."

"Let me tell you my way?" Starsky's hands slid down to Hutch's chest, one hand resting over a nipple.

Hutch nodded his agreement.

"Okay, here's what I was thinking. First, I thought I'd do this for a while..."

Starsky removed his hand from Hutch's nipple and replaced it with his lips. He gently worked the stiffened flesh with his tongue and then his teeth and then his tongue again before moving to the other nipple and repeating the torturous pleasure. Hutch longed to bury his hands in Starsky's hair, to hold his head in place, to push it harder against his skin, to do something.

Cool air on his skin, and then the heel of Starsky's hand made contact with his nipple at the same time his other hand went around the back of Hutch's neck. Hutch felt his head pulled forward and Starsky's lips took his. The sweetness of the earlier kiss was gone; this one was full of heat and intensity and longing.

With Starsky's tongue ravaging his mouth, Hutch pulled even harder against the cuffs. He understood completely now the frustration Starsky had felt a few weeks earlier when Hutch had kept him from fulfilling the need to touch, to hold, to control.

Breaking the kiss, Starsky laughed softly when Hutch tried to follow his retreating lips. "More of that later, but now we're gonna try something else." His hands slid down to Hutch's hips, thumbs caressing the skin there. When he spoke again, it was a hoarse whisper. "We need your imagination here, Hutch. You with me?"

Once again, Hutch could only nod. He couldn't have formed a coherent sentence if he'd wanted to.

"I need you to go inside your mind and imagine us in our bedroom. Can you do that?"

Hutch's mind felt like it was stuck in a cyclone, but for Starsky, he wanted to try. He pictured their bedroom, dark and warm, lit only by the moon high outside their windows. "Okay."

"I'm in front of you, on my knees, and you're about to take me for the first time. You've already prepared me, slow and easy, and I want this. I want it really, really bad."

Hutch nodded. In his mind's eye, he could see the sweat on Starsky's back, could hear Starsky urging him on, could smell his musky arousal.

"Okay, in just a second, I'm going to take you in my mouth...only I want you to forget about here and now. Instead, imagine you're fucking me." Starsky's voice dropped low again. "You'll be fucking my mouth, Hutch, but I want you in that other place in your mind...fucking me."

Starsky went quiet and didn't move. Hutch knew he was waiting for an answer.

"Take off the blindfold?" Hutch whispered the request.

"No, that's part of it." One of Starsky's hands came up to pat the cloth over Hutch's eyes, fingers tugging pieces of hair on his forehead. "If I take it off, you'll stay here and you'll look at me, and I'll look at you, and I'll know you're watching for my reactions, checking to make sure I'm enjoying myself."

"And there's something wrong with that?"

"Yeah, tonight there is. For months you wanted something I wouldn't give you, and you locked it away like it wasn't important."

"It wasn't," Hutch interjected. "Not if you didn't want it."

"But you shut it away for good. You tried to talk to me about it a couple of times, but I wouldn't even do that. I was too uptight." Starsky's hand came to rest on Hutch's cheek. "That day on the bedroom floor, I learned what I'd been afraid of was losing control. But you made me see that I could be out of control with you, that I could always trust you not to take it too far, past what I could handle."

Hutch was surprised to feel a lump in his throat. He swallowed past it. "I never want to hurt you, or push you past what you want to do."

"I know that, and I do trust you. I don't trust me, though, not to get all tense again and ruin it for us. And that's why I want to do this tonight. I want you to imagine yourself fucking me, to lose yourself in it the way I want you to."

"I don't know, Starsk. What about you? What do you get out of this?"

"For one thing, I'm gonna watch you, and if this works, I'll see the way your body moves in and out of me, how it reacts as you take your pleasure, and when the right time really gets here, I'll remember, and I'll know it's okay." Keeping one hand on Hutch's cheek, Starsky skimmed the other down Hutch's torso and then wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock. "And for another, turnabout's fair play. I want you to know what it's like to be loved so much, so fiercely, so completely, and not be able to do a damn thing in return."

Hutch held his breath as Starsky's hand began a long, torturously slow stroke.

"You with me, Hutch?" Starsky didn't wait for an answer. "So I'm on our bed, and I'm waiting for you. You're standing behind me..."

Hutch was aware of brief kisses on his lips and chin and throat, and then Starsky's mouth was moving down his body, still talking, still kissing, hand still gripping Hutch's cock.

"You rub your hands on my back, soothing me, and you move closer." Starsky palmed Hutch's crown, wet with precum, and then placed a kiss there.

Behind his blindfold, Hutch was seeing the room as Starsky described it. He even shifted his stance as if moving closer to Starsky's body, his fingers flexing and gripping the shower rod tighter.

"You push against me, but I'm tight and you have to go easy." Starsky's hand on the back of his thigh squeezed lightly, instructing.

Hutch pushed, but to his surprise, met resistance. He gently pushed again, his cock probing against a small, slick opening.

"Easy, now. We're almost there. I'm gonna be a little busy here," Starsky said, chuckling softly, and Hutch could feel the expelled air on his dick. "But you'll know when I'm ready, and when I am, I want you to fuck me like you want to. Like I want you to, Hutch."

Pushing again, Hutch realized that Starsky was using his curled fist to mimic his body's resistance so it slowly opened to him. Hutch moved slowly, achingly slowly, and felt the tip of Starsky's tongue dart into his slit and back away. Hutch pushed again, and again felt Starsky's tongue, dancing, playing, pulling him past Starsky's wet lips and into the warmth of his mouth.

Hutch pulled back and pushed forward, each time Starsky's fist opening a little more. It felt almost like Hutch had imagined it, back when he'd allowed himself the guilty pleasure. Hot, tight, yielding. He pumped slowly, but firmly, and soon it was all warm wetness around his cock. Starsky's mouth worked him hard, more intensely than would normally bring pleasure, but Hutch knew it was part of Starsky's game, to mimic his body's reactions.

Fingers fumbled along his jaw and found his mouth, surprising Hutch when they pushed against his lips. But then he understood and sucked them in, wetting them with his tongue and licking Starsky's palm for good measure.

Starsky sucked him to the back of his throat and moved both of his hands to Hutch's ass, wet fingers sliding into the crevice there. He squeezed the flesh in his hands and pulled Hutch forward. Starsky was ready.

Still trying to set a slow and easy pace, Hutch moved gently. Starsky had other ideas. He squeezed Hutch's ass again and pushed one wet finger just barely inside Hutch's anus. His message was clear: You want more, work for it.

Hutch fucked Starsky's mouth harder, each forward movement pushing the breach of Starsky's throat, and each backward thrust pulling Starsky's finger in deeper. As he moved faster and more feverishly, he felt the edge of the t-shirt, now curled beneath his nipples, caress the taut peaks on every stroke. Over and over again, until he no longer knew, nor cared, whether he was in Starsky's bedroom fantasy or handcuffed to the shower rod in the bathroom. Every nerve ending in his body was on fire, and the only thing making it tolerable was his ability to move.

Hutch gripped the shower rod tighter and fucked like Starsky wanted him to.

A long, low moan filled the air and rumbled along his cock, making Hutch's legs go weak. A few moments later, he realized that Starsky had moved one hand to his own cock. Hutch could see him clearly in his mind's eye: short, light strokes at first, then firmer, wet and slick, as a thumb over the crown brought precum down to coat the impassioned flesh. Moaning, Hutch tugged hard against the cuffs, longing to touch Starsky, to feel the veins and ridges beneath his fingers, to pull his orgasm from him, but even though the bar creaked and shook, it held him fast.

Hutch pumped harder, faster, as the wave of ecstasy carried him along on its crest. He wanted to ride it forever, but he could feel his balls drawing up tight and knew he couldn't last much longer. Starsky knew it, too, and filled him with another finger at the same time he rubbed his tongue along the vein of Hutch's cock.

With fiery need surging through his body, Hutch once again pulled hard against his restraints, this time fueled by passion so strong that he ripped the shower rod away from the wall. He needed only a split second to register what had happened and quickly worked the cuffs off the end of the bar, letting it fall behind him.

The instant he felt his hands swing free, Hutch buried his fingers in Starsky's curls. He heard Starsky groan again, his body going rigid beneath Hutch's hands, and then Starsky's throat closed around him. Hutch's world flashed white hot behind the blindfold. He shouted Starsky's name as the wave finally crested and dragged him, spinning and gasping for air, underneath its surface.

He floated for a while, until he felt Starsky move and the blindfold was pulled away. Starsky's mouth covered his, tongue petting, letting Hutch taste himself and know Starsky's pleasure.

"I think that worked out pretty well," Starsky whispered against his cheek and sat back in the tub, a satisfied, if exhausted, grin on his face.

Hutch laughed, or tried to between gasps for air. Easing around to sit on the bathmat, he saw the gaping hole in the wallboard where the shower rod had once been. He laughed harder. "I think we need to call it even on the restraints. We can't afford it." He pointed up at the damage.

Starsky craned his head for a look and snorted. "Yeah, maybe we should just keep it in the bedroom, on the bed." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Hey, hand me a wash cloth, will ya?"

Groaning, Hutch got to his feet and walked on shaky legs to the vanity. He spotted the carton Starsky had brought in earlier. "Hey, I forgot about this. What the hell's in here?"

Starsky opened one eye and shook his head. "Just some stuff I got while I was out shopping. You know: soap, shampoo, razor blades..."

"But I thought..."

"I know what you thought," Starsky sneered. "Your dick did the tango when you saw that box. I just figured I'd use it as atmosphere. You know, keep you off balance." He reached up and grabbed the washcloth Hutch hurled at him.

Rummaging through the box, Hutch noticed one purchase Starsky hadn't mentioned. "Giant economy size?" He waved the tube of lubricant in the air. "You planning on getting a lot of action, are you?"

"'S for both of us, dummy." Starsky smiled when Hutch looked at him sharply. "What, you heard what I said earlier: turnabout's fair play, buddy."

Hutch carefully placed the tube on the vanity and backed away, trying to ignore the faint strains of a tango buzzing in his ears.

 

*

THE END


End file.
